


Wicked Ways

by Anklepants (CariniCode)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff, M/M, One Shot Collection, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariniCode/pseuds/Anklepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of oneshots featuring m!Lavellan.</p>
<p>From hunter to slave to mercenary and, finally, to Herald of Andraste, Sythil struggles to become what everyone in the Inquisition expects him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

> A friend recommended I post these to AO3 for safe keeping, but also for kicks and giggles, so...

“I am not _scared_ ,” he defended, crossing his arms with a little pout on his lips. 

“Are you sure? Because I heard Riethe say there was a pack of wolves out there, too,” Cayn teased. It gave Sythil pause—if there were wolves, on top of a great bear in the new forest they had moved into, then maybe going alone wouldn't be such a good idea. He wasn't sure if he was skilled enough to survive an encounter with either predator, not yet, anyways.

“Don't worry your brother like that, Cayn,” the eldest hunter, Mirre, chastised. “Sythil has proven he knows how to move through the woods without being detected, he will grow to be one of our best hunters, I know it.” Sythil's ears grew red and hot at the compliment, humbly looking towards the ground—Mirre had said he was skilled before, but she had never said it to someone else. Cayn just chuckled, putting his arm around his younger brother.

“I know that,” he answered, and the blush that was slowly running down Sythil's throat grew more prominent. “But it's good he knows what's out there! Wouldn't want mother to worry anymore than she has to!” 

“True. If you would feel more comfortable, Sythil, this does not need to be your first hunt alone. I will accompany you once more, if you like.” 

Sythil hesitated, thinking on it. He had finally reached his fourteenth year, and that was about the time young elves, if designated a hunter, went on their first solo hunt—in their clan, at least. Keeper Feriel always thought they should be trained to provide for themselves should something happen and their clan end up divided. For months Sythil had been training with Mirre and the other hunters, learning the tricks of their trade, and she thought he was ready to go alone. However, he didn't know this forest as well as the last, and though he was always careful, the idea of accidentally stumbling upon a great bear was terrifying at best.

“Maybe you could accompany me, Mirre?” he asked her, and received a kind smile in return.

“I would be honored, lethallin.” 

They set out shortly after acquiring more arrows for their quivers. Sythil wasn't the best with a bow, preferred a dagger instead, but he wasn't a terrible shot, either (most of the time, anyways). Mirre, though the eldest and most wise hunter of their group, allowed him to lead where they hunted, and so Sythil chose to follow the thin river that weaved throughout the trees. 

There was a bit of game—enough to feed the clan for a few nights—but a few miles from their camp they discovered the great bear Cayn had warned him about, though it was dead and polluting the river with its blood. 

“This animal did not die naturally,” Mirre said, kneeling near the bear and checking its injuries. “It was slain.” 

“This is our first time hunting this forest,” Sythil said, swallowing down the nervous energy that had developed. He had never met humans before—other clans, certainly, but they never really encountered other races, so all he had was the savage stories of how their ancestors were enslaved and murdered. If they didn't kill the bear, and there were no other clans in the area, then it could only mean other hunters—likely humans—were also in the area. 

Sythil had only looked away for a moment, but a sickening squish noise had him looking back—an arrow was protruding out of Mirre's chest. 

“Lethallan!” he exclaimed, stepping towards her.

“Run, Sythil, run and warn the clan!” she hissed to him, standing despite the arrow and drawing her bow. A quick glance around, and Sythil could see a few humans off in the distance, one of them stringing his bow again before Mirre put an arrow through his throat. “Go!” 

Turning on his heels and heeding the elder hunter, Sythil ran in the direction he knew camp to be, following the river. He heard Mirre cry out behind him, but didn't look back.

His legs were burning as he only forced himself to run fast, but something wasn't right: there was smoke billowing above the tree line where the aravels were, and halla were rushing away in clear panic and fear. Stopping, because he could now see the fire that consumed the camp, Sythil made to back away only for something sharp to embed in his shoulder and cause him to cry out. 

An arrow, and a second one in his thigh soon followed, causing him to stumble back into a tree. Looking in the direction it had come, he could see a human hunter approaching—but Sythil was nearly paralyzed with terror and pain, unable to do much but grasp his thigh and watch with wide, fearful eyes. 

Keyln, his eldest sister, was their Keeper's first, and very proficent with magic—coming from the left with their mother behind her, the mage blasted the human hunter with a bolt of lightning, sending him flying. 

“Ma len,” his mother cried, moving to where he was shaking and grasping his face, before checking the arrow. “We must flee, quickly—they are slavers. A few were captured, Cayn... Cayn is dead.” 

“What? No—I just saw him before I left--” Sythil choked out, clinging to his mother's arm. 

“They killed him, and they will kill us too if we do not leave now!” Keyln snapped, making their mother flinch. 

“I-I cannot move quickly,” Sythil whispered, eyes wide and tear filled as his heart ached for his brother. Keyln eyed him from where she stood a few feet away.

“I will carry you--” his mother said, almost manic with the need to protect what children she had left.

“You will only be slowed down, mother,” Keyln spoke, her tone softer now. “It will do nothing but get you and him both killed.” 

“I am not leaving him!” she shrieked. 

Terrified, Sythil tried to calm and steel himself. Keyln was right—there were undoubtedly more slavers, and his mother would only be slowed with the weight of him. He was already hurt, bleeding around the arrows, and it was possible he wouldn't survive the journey ahead of them. 

“You must go, mother,” he said quietly, looking away and missing the betrayal on her face. “I... I'm not likely to survive anyways, and maybe... maybe I can hold the slavers off while you and the clan escape. Mirre... Mirre said I would be one of the best hunters.” 

“Would be! If you survived!” she cried. “I am not abandoning my youngest, I'm not--”

“Mother, we will all die,” Keyln argued, tone sharp. “You will lose me, you will lose Sythil, and you'll lose the twins and Seere. Do you truly wish to lose all your children tonight?” 

“I can't just abandon him,” she cried, her tone soft and broken. 

“Please, mother, go,” Sythil rasped, pulling off the necklace he had been given by his father, and handing it to her. 

Their mother openly sobbed as Keyln dragged her away and guided her to the east, and Sythil took deep breaths to calm himself. He was going to die, and possibly be in a whole lot more pain than he was now—but it meant his mother and siblings would survive, that maybe the clan would be able to reconnect, move, and continue to thrive. It was a sacrifice, and he was utterly terrified. 

He needed to move. Breaking the shaft of the arrow in his leg, but not removing it, Sythil equipped his bow and limped to a better concealed spot—he could hear horses now, and knew that if the slavers gave chase while mounted, they would catch the clan with little difficulty. While keeping his wounded noises contained, Sythil found a higher vantage point and waited, his bow strung and ready to fire. As soon as the first horse came into sight, Sythil let go of the arrow. 

Without knowing how many humans there were, he couldn't guarantee being able to kill all of them—so he was certain the best course of action was to kill the horses, so they couldn't follow after his clan. 

He killed three horses before the humans realized where he was hidden, and the young elf tried to run, he really did—but the moment he stood, his leg about gave out and caused him to collapse back down. Stringing another arrow, he shot a fourth horse before a second arrow from the slavers embedded into his shoulder a few inches from the first. 

Breathing heavily and laying on his back from the force of it, Sythil's vision began to blur when a dark figure stood over him. “Heal him. Might as well get some coin out of the trouble he caused us,” a voice spoke, though Sythil went unconscious not a moment later. 

-&-

When the young elf woke again, it was to a cage and another elf. He had been stripped of his weapons and poisons, and put into some ragged clothing that hung loosely from his thin body. There were no arrows in his body, and, most importantly, he was still alive. Yet, beyond the cage, he could see he was no longer in the forest, but on the shore of some large body of water—none of the land was familiar, and he didn't recognize the elf in his cage.

“W-Where are we?” he asked. 

“You've been captured. They're probably planning to send us to Tevinter,” came the reply. “That's where all the slaves go.”

“I... I don't know where Tevinter is.” He heard of it, of course, but he'd never actually met anyone from the Imperium or visited there, for obvious reasons. 

“You will soon enough. It'll probably be the last place you ever see.”


	2. Slide

The Storm Coast was one of his absolute favorite places to visit, despite the disgruntled complaints from his companions. Rain was a constant there, refreshing and cool against his skin, and it seemed to liven the environment around them. The scent of the foliage around them and the serene quiet almost made it peaceful—until they stumbled upon a horde of darkspawn while looking for traces of Grey Wardens. Sythil hadn't seen the archer until an arrow found its mark in his leg, sending him stumbling forward on the slope and into the mud as the other darkspawn charged out from their cover. 

“Up you go, boss,” Iron Bull laughed, hauling him up out of the mud like he weighed nothing at all. 

“Might want to watch your step—it'd be a shame if the Inquisition was defeated by a mudslide,” Dorian teased, blasting one of the darkspawn that had gotten too close. Assuming his party hadn't seen the arrow, and noting the shaft of the arrow had snapped when he fell, Sythil merely nodded and equipped his daggers—his movement was limited, but luckily the darkspawn were more than willing to come to him. 

Their battle against the darkspawn didn't become difficult until the light rain turned into heavy downpour, severely limiting their field of vision—Sythil couldn't see two feet in front of him, much less the hulking figures of their enemy. Something lunged at him from the side, and he barely had the reflexes to lift his arm and block the incoming sword strike with his dagger before slicing the darkspawn's throat with his free one. Without being able to see around him, Sythil felt vulnerable and ill at ease.

“C'mon,” he heard someone shout, and turned just in time to see Bull's form emerge from the downpour. “There was a cave a few yards back!” 

“What about Dorian and Cassandra?” he shouted back, concerned for his companions.

“Already heading for cover,” Bull answered, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. Sythil wasn't sure on the direction they were supposed to be going, or even if they were heading back the way they came, but the pain in his leg was numbed by the icy chill of the rain on his skin. He would need to remove the arrow once they got to shelter, but for now, it wasn't in a vital place nor was it painful; it just made him limp a bit. 

How Bull found the cave was a mystery to Sythil, but he wasn't complaining. As soon as they were in the dark caverns and out of the rain, the small elf sat down to begin the tedious process of removing the arrow—there was enough of the shaft left that he had something to grab, and he had some elfroot left to medicate it with. While he worked on fixing himself up, he could hear the Qunari shuffling around; a quick glance revealed there wasn't anything in there to make a fire with, and Iron Bull discovered the same conclusion not a moment later. With a grunt he returned to where Sythil was sitting and tending to his leg. 

“One of the darkspawn get you?” he asked, inspecting the injury as much as he could in the dark. 

“Shot me,” Sythil agreed. “T'was why I went tumbling down the hill.” 

Once the arrow was removed—and Sythil was proud of himself for not making any noise when he pulled it out—and elfroot carefully applied, he wrapped a bandage tightly around the injury and called it good. He had been tending to his own injuries long before the Inquisition, and knew when he was safe to forgo drinking a potion. So long as it didn't become infected, and the arrow wasn't poisoned, he'd be fine. 

“Move up,” Bull said, and though the elf gave him a curious look, he slid forward away from the cavern wall just for Bull to take a seat behind him and pull Sythil back between his legs. It was comfortable there; the Qunari was warm around him, and Sythil was able to relax—there was nothing sexual about it, just a physical comfort that pleased the elf. 

“This okay?” 

Sythil hummed quietly, resting his head back against Bull. It would have been better if the Qunari wasn't wearing his armor, but he'd take whatever was offered. “Very okay,” he answered. As far as his relationship with Bull and Dorian went, there was a distinct lack of sexual activities—in truth, Sythil was terrified of his own body and the idea of sex that he clammed up and shut down. Neither Dorian or Bull pushed, but instead pursued physical activities that didn't need to involve removing clothes. Sythil was surprisingly fond of cuddling. 

“I hope Cassandra and Dorian found shelter,” he said quietly, watching and listening to the rain fall. He was under the impression they had killed the last of the darkspawn as the rain began to fall more heavily—Bull wouldn't have left them—and would either step in at any moment, or had found another cave to hide in. They would find each other as soon as the rain let up. 

“I'm sure they're fine, boss,” Bull answered, voice a low timbre that vibrated right through Sythil. “Why don't you rest up? You've been tromping around on this stupid coast for days.” 

“I like the storm coast,” Sythil said quietly, feeling the pull of a nap. It wasn't so much that he was exhausted, but more so that he was warm and knew he would be safe with Bull. The Qunari had proved on more than one occasion that he would protect Sythil, and the young elf hadn't known safety like that since he was tiny and with his clan. Dorian and Bull both gave him all sorts of feelings he thought he'd lost with his family. 

Bull didn't answer, instead wrapping his arms around Sythil, and the elf slipped off to sleep with little trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting a little with the type of character I want Sythil to be. Also, I'm not sure on how well I write Bull's speech patterns, but I tried, right? A for effort.


End file.
